


The Water is Still Running

by artandatrocity



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artandatrocity/pseuds/artandatrocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard catches his little brother in the bathroom one afternoon, engaging in an entirely unnecessary practice that breaks the elder brother's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Water is Still Running

**Author's Note:**

> Nowadays I rarely produce anything so short, but the nostalgic side of me remains particularly attached to this little fic. I decided that it merits editing and re-posting, even if I'm alone in finding it worthwhile.

Our house is still and silent, for the most part. Resting back against my headboard, the book I try to read begins to slip out of my hands. The relaxation slowly leads me into a drowsy stupor, and I'll probably fall asleep soon. Unfortunately, the wall against which my bed rests is shared with the bathroom, meaning sound from any activity that goes on in there flows right into my bedroom. Right now I think I hear the sink running. It's hard to tell, though, because I'm only half awake and I seem to hear it from a long ways away. To my knowledge mom is napping in her room down the stairs, so Mikey must be the occupant, seeing as he’s the only other person home this afternoon.

I'm conscious enough to know that I hear what I think is water crashing into the sink for longer than is really normal. I can't imagine what Mikes must be doing that necessitates running the tap for that long.

Suddenly I'm jerked from my pleasant dozing by a retching noise drifting over the sound of the liquid hitting stainless steel. It's a sickening sound. My eyes fly open and I don't hear anything but the water for about 30 seconds. Then there it is again; that horrible heave.

It's as though until this second offense, what I could hear wasn’t actually registering.  
Then it hit me. 

Mikey. 

Something is wrong with Mikey.

My quick leap out of bed sends the book in my lap flying across the room. It lands unceremoniously in the corner, pages crumpled against the carpet under the weight of it’s thick cover. But I don't even notice, because I'm out of my door before I hear the volume hit the floor. 

It's a sharp right into the bathroom, whose door doesn't possess the luxury of a lock, so it's an easy entrance. Upon flinging open the door and staring in front of me, a look of horror spreads across my face.

There was my baby brother, kneeling pitifully in front of the white porcelain bowl. One of his slender fingers is stuck deep into his throat, wiggling like some sort of unnatural worm. It's obvious that he's doing everything in his power to hit his gag reflex. He is distressingly successful. Mikey's head bows lower over the toilet, the contents of his stomach pouring into the germ infested water with a fabulous splash. I see his already thin frame shudder violently from the force, his face contorting with discomfort.

The sink is still running. I can’t acknowledge it, my mind occupied by panic, and I give the flood of water no more notice. I'm too appalled by what I see in front of me.

Obviously, Mikey is oblivious to my presence. Now the hand is out of his mouth, and he's resting gingerly against the cool ceramic fixture. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath coming in uneven spurts. Eyes still closed he flips over to lean back against the bathtub, arms folding over his abdomen. The boy looks exhausted.

I remain silent as I continue to stare at him, my mouth slightly agape in shock.

Still, the water is running. Did he truly think I wouldn't be able to hear him over the cascading noise?

After a few silent moments punctured only by my brother's ragged breathing, his eyes flutter open. It takes him a moment before it registers that I'm standing in the doorway. He still doesn't move. Though I'm sure he knows that he is caught, I think he also knows that there's nothing he can do about it now.

There is a horrible brown, sticky looking substance ringing around his pink lips. I think that's what gets to me most right now, so I grab the nearest washcloth and shove it under the flow of warm water still pouring into the sink. I ring it out a little before advancing on Mikey, still not taking the time to turn off the tap. Upon reaching him I kneel down to get closer to his level. Gingerly, I rub the moist terrycloth over his mouth, wiping away the vile vomit. My actions receive no response for awhile, as Mikey continues to sit there silently. His breathing steadily resumes its normal pace.

Without warning his hand whips up from his stomach and wrenches the cloth out of my grasp. Mikey tosses it over his shoulder into the tub, and then resumes his slumped, cross-armed position. His expression has changed rapidly, and he now looks angry. But whether his anger is directed at him or me, I don't know, because neither of us wants to be the first to say anything.

For my part, I can't understand why Mikey feels like he needs to do this to himself. As it is, I can easily wrap my arms around him a length and half. Really, it tears me apart to think that he possess so many bodily insecurities that he believes shredding his throat is a legitimate solution.

As the seconds pass, it becomes more obvious that his anger is growing. There's a fire in his eyes right now that I've never seen. I'm positive that parts of the flames are shame and embarrassment at being caught.

The silence between us is tense and deafening, but I can still hear the sink in the background.

It's apparent that all Mikey wants is for me to leave. Slowly I rise back up to my feet and turn to leave. On my way out the door, I reach over to finally turn the handle on the tap, and the swift flow ceases. Quickly I glance back into the wall length mirror, and I can see Mikey still leaning back, arms folded, the same cross look on his face. I make sure to close the oak door behind me.

Back in my room, the book still lies abandoned in the corner as I crawl back onto my bed. Instead of resting against the headboard again, I sink all the way down so that I'm completely horizontal. Much as I strain my ears for any hint of noise, there is no sound whatsoever in the entire household. The silence is maddening, leaving me stuck with any and all thoughts worming their way into my head. Each ugly notion follows so swiftly after another that I can't even begin to categorize them before my mind shifts once again. All I want is a hint of noise; anything that doesn’t leave me entirely alone with my thoughts.

I should have left the water running.


End file.
